


The Walls Came Tumbling Down

by MythsandMen



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Mean Girls - Richmond/Benjamin/Fey
Genre: F/F, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-29 23:03:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20444039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MythsandMen/pseuds/MythsandMen
Summary: Janis never expected to hear her name fall from the escort's lips at this year's reaping. She never expected to be going into the Hunger Games with her best friend, and certainly never expected to fall in love with a red-headed girl from Ten whilst they're fighting for their lives in an arena where they could be killed at any passing moment.A Mean Girls Hunger Games AU.





	The Walls Came Tumbling Down

District Eight is gloomy on the best of days, but even more so on the morning of the reaping. When she manages to pull her gaze away from her colorful canvas to glance out of the window, Janis is met with desolate streets, gray clouds and raindrops splattering against her filthy bedroom window. She watches the rain start to wash away the collected dust, but the downpour doesn’t last for long. Just long enough to reinforce the mood already settled over the district; the horror, the hopelessness.

Pressing her lips into a thin line, Janis focuses back on her painting. A mess of color and abstract shapes with no inspiration other than the need to distract herself. Damian will be over soon for breakfast and to get ready, but until then she needs to be doing something so that she doesn’t just end up wallowing in the anxiety slowly building up inside of her. Reaping Day is the only thing that she really gets nervous for, and with good reason, and she hates the feeling starting to bubble up in the pit of her stomach. It’s not even as if she has anything to really worry about; her name is only in there an extra three times a year (sixteen times in total), and whilst that may seem like a lot it’s not in the grand scheme of things. She knows a lot of people with their names in more times than she has. 

She’s so concentrated on ignore her feelings and focusing on her art, that she misses Damian’s knock and doesn’t realize that he’s in her room until he taps her on the shoulder and she drops her paintbrush as she whirls around.

“You scared me,” she says letting out a breath she didn’t know she was holding as she bends down to pick up her paintbrush. 

Usually the two of them would be laughing right now, in hysterics that Damian had scared her so badly, but the mood in the room is as sombre as that in the district. 

“Sorry,” Damian apologizes, uncharacteristically serious. He looks as if he hasn’t slept. “You should wash up.”

Janis looks at the paint that has somehow made its way onto her arms and face. “Yeah,” she agrees. “I should.” 

And so she takes a short, cold shower before returning to her room. Damian has already rooted through her closet whilst she was gone, draping the contending outfits for the reaping on her bed. He’s cleaned up her art supplies, too, and Janis thanks him. 

But the outfit selection is less than stellar, to say the least. 

“I hate them all,” she grimaces, staring at the blouses and skirts. They were ones that her mom had made, the finances too tight to buy one at the market this year, and whilst she appreciated the effort these were not clothes that she would wear on a daily basis. Only Reaping Day could force her into one of these outfits. 

“I’m not too fond of them either,” Damian tries to jest, although neither of them crack a smile. “But if you were to wear any one, I’d say this outfit suits you best.”

He holds up a simple off-white blouse, and an orange skirt that reaches just past her knees. It’s the epitome of poor-Eight kid’s fashion; the washed out material, and the fact that they’re homemade, but beggars can’t be choosers. And if Janis hated it when it was laid out on her bed, she hates it even more when she retreats to the bathroom and gets changed. It’s not her, not in the slightest, and she detests it. 

“My mom will be happy, though,” she comments to Damian. “I don’t think she expected that I’d ever wear this.”

Of course, Janis does wear the other clothes her mom makes her. The sweatshirts, tshirts, and trousers. Ones that she’s allowed to decorate with the patches that she makes, and the ones that feel like her. She’s nothing of a fashionista, not like Damian is (although it’s hard with his mother’s limited income and little free time to sew him anything), but there’s something about the general fashion of Eight that is so gloomy and depressing. Janis like to set herself apart. Not to gain attention or anything, but just to make herself not so _ boring. _

But she’s right about her mom’s reaction. When the pair emerge from Janis’s bedroom to grab breakfast, she’s met with the first genuine smile of the day as her mom gushes over her and pulls her close. She can detect the undercurrent of worry in her mom’s tone, and it’s written all over her dad’s face as he approaches, but she tries to ignore that as much as possible. She’ll feel stupid for worrying so much when she and Damian are home safe later, the atmosphere somewhat lighter despite the fact that two families will be sat in the dark with their blinds drawn at the beginning of the worst months of their lives.

“We should head over to yours,” Janis says once they’ve eaten a buttered tesserae roll each—not much since, one, there’s not much else in the cupboard and, two, neither of them are actually hungry enough for an actual meal.

“Yeah,” Damian nods. “My mom’s probably wondering where we are.” 

It takes Damian significantly longer to get ready than Janis. She ends up in their small living room, make smalltalk with his mom. Ms. Hubbard is a lovely woman with a heart of gold, working herself to the bone like so many in Eight. She watches with so much patience as Damian cycles through outfits, flip flops between hairstyles, and genuinely seems more like himself than when he’d entered Janis’s bedroom.

Only for a little while, until the reaping horn blares and they’re back in reality. It’s Reaping Day and there’s a chance, however small, that one of them could be on their way to the Capitol in a few hours.

They meet with Janis’s parents outside Damian’s apartment before they make their way to the square, hugging everyone goodbye before she and Damian filter into the line of kids waiting to be signed in. Damian’s hand squeezes Janis’s tightly, and they gaze back at Janis’s parents and Ms. Hubbard for reassurance periodically, until they’re at the front of the queue and they can’t see the adults anymore.

“We’ll be fine,” Damian whispers before they separate to get their fingers pricked. “Won’t we?”

“Sure we will,” Janis nods, swallowing thickly. They meet again once they’re signed in, hovering in the aisle together before they’re pushed into their respective gendered sections by the peacekeepers just before the event starts.

It’s the same process as usual; the mayor’s speech, the list of Victors, the video, the bumbling escort who doesn’t know the gravity of the situation. Who thinks that the Games are a good thing. Who thinks that they should be jumping for joy when their names are called. 

Janis feels trapped as the tension continues to climb. She doesn’t know how it’s not affecting the escort on stage, who’s jokes are falling flat and who can clearly see that her jokes and attempts at humor are falling flat. Janis cranes her head, trying to see past the other girls to see if she could spot Damian again, but there are too many boys for her to even be able to make him out. 

She almost misses the escort pulling the girl tribute’s name.

And when it’s read out she wishes that she did. Wishes that she was far away from this square and from Eight and from the girls around her, girls she goes to school with, slowly turning to stare at her. 

Because it is her name tumbling clumsily from Eight’s escort’s lips. Her name that echoes around the district, and her name that falls upon the ears of the bloodthirsty Capitolites who are eager to see just who she is.

Janis feels as if she’s had a bucket of ice water tipped over her. She hears her mom yell from somewhere at the back of the square, and has to fight back tears as she takes stiff steps from her section into the aisle.

The peacekeepers flank her, tall and imposing figures in white, and she has to keep herself from trembling besides them. All eyes in the Capitol are on her now; on her in her stupid blouse and long skirt, judging her chances of survival already. If she cries, she wont get sponsors (even though the chance that she will is already miniscule even without the tears) so she tries to hold it together as best as she can. Even when her gaze falls upon her parents and Ms. Hubbard, all clutching each other. And on Damian, who’s gazing up at her with his mouth hanging open and tears in his eyes. 

She tries to focus her gaze ahead, the numbness that had originally encased her slowly starting to melt away. Her racing mind is starting to slow, starting to accept the dire reality of the situation. In a few weeks, she’ll be dead. It’s a lot to process, but she needs to do it as quickly as possible in order to focus on doing what she can in the next few days to learn some new skills and at least _ attempt _to return to Eight. She can’t just give up; that wouldn’t be fair on her parents, or on Ms. Hubbard and Damian. Neither to those starving in Eight, those who could do with the extra food that the Victor brings in with their win.

Janis is brought back to reality when their escort moves to the boys’ bowl, and she watches with bated breath as she returns to the microphone and unfolds the slip. But the boy who’s name is read out has barely stepped into the aisle when Janis’s worst nightmare comes true, and Damian runs out into the aisle. 

“I volunteer!” He declares, and Janis’s stomach drops. 

It’s what she dreamt about, what she wakes up in cold sweats about: she and Damian are going into the Games together.

Janis hates this. She absolutely hates it.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! This is a shorter chapter, just sort of setting things up. I've written a few HG crossovers (although I haven't posted them), but the reaping chapter and general introduction have always been the hardest to write. There's only so much you can say they're worried about getting reaped, right? But chapters will definitely be getting longer as this fic goes on, and more creative, especially in the build up towards the Games. Certainly during.
> 
> Janis and Damian are from Eight, as I felt that was the district that suited them best. As it's textiles, I consider it as quite an artsy district therefore leading to me placing them here. Cady, although not introduced here, will be from Ten because, well, animals, and the Plastics will be from the various Career districts. Karen in One, since the stereotype is the dumb blonde sort of tribute which I feel sums her up pretty well, Regina in Two since she's the most vicious and bloodthirsty in the three, and Gretchen in Four since that was the only other Career spot open (a great reason, I know, but I need the Plastics to be in the Career Pack for a few important plot reasons, so)...
> 
> Other spots will be taken up by the minor characters in the show (although the majority of spots aren't actually filled, and will more than likely be unnamed characters), and I used posts from _the ensemblist_ to learn names, personality traits etc of the characters in the ensemble. Whilst they won't be major characters, and are mainly there for bloodbath deaths/early games deaths, it's still important that I portray them right.
> 
> It is also important to note that I am going more by Mean Girls the musical than the movie. Whilst I love the movie and it holds a special place in my hear, the musical is a lot easier to connect to in regards to characters and personalities for me, and so that's what I'm therefore going to use.
> 
> Thanks again for reading!


End file.
